I Do Not?
by Devivoododoll
Summary: The war is over, everyone is happy. Right? When a marriage law is introduced to create unity between Purebloods and Muggle borns, all hell breaks loose for poor Hermione. HxD
1. Chapter 1

1

A little something I have been working on. I have a few chapters written out already, so here is a tease. Let me know what you think?

I own nothing. P

CHAPTER ONE

Marriage.

To many, that word conjures up warm images of laughter, of love, and bright promises of the future. To many, that word was something to celebrate over, fuss over, and be all around proud of. But then again, to many, marriage wasn't something being forced upon them by one seemingly senile old man with a increasingly annoying twinkle in his eyes.

Hermione Granger had recently had the 'pleasure' of being chosen for an arranged marriage at the wonderful age of 17.

How did she feel about this little matter?

It was very safe to say that, at present, Hermione Granger was not a very happy person.

XXX

It was three weeks into her seventh year at Hogwarts when her life went from being understandably chaotic to unbelievably horrid.

For one thing, the war was over. And while that brought with it relief beyond any measure, it also brought a slew of problems no one thought to consider during the course of the war. One of these issues was brought along by the murder of the minister of magic during the final battles. After the war, only one person seemed fit to rule over the ministry and it was none other then Albus Dumbledore. At the time, it had seemed like a great idea and everyone had been in favor. I mean, who better to over see all the wizarding world? The only other foreseeable option, Harry Potter (who had thankfully survived the showdown), had no desire for the position which left it wide open. All in all, everyone was rather pleased with the decision.

But oh how wrong we were.

As it turns out, Albus Dumbledore was indeed, in her personal opinion, one of the most sinister people Hermione had ever met. Sure, he was good. No one doubted that. But he was a manipulator and it became rather evident after he made his first very public decree that wasn't up for discussion.

There had been quite a problem after the war with pure bloods and muggle born showing a lot of aggression towards each other, ignoring the 'small' fact on which side of the war they actually had fought on. As can be imagined, several violent incidents and the death of two pure bloods by the hands of muggle born lead to realization by the ministry that something would have to be done, and soon.

Any normal person, as far as Hermione was concerned, would have come up with a rational solution to a pressing issue. Any normal person, she thought, would have carefully considered all outcomes of said solution and made sure it was truly best for the general public.

But when Albus Dumbledore announced the he would be personally arranging marriages between all of age muggle born and pure bloods, it was rather plain to the wizarding world that Albus Dumbledore... had finally lost his marbles.

Needless to say, at present, Hermione Granger was not a very happy person.

XXXXXX

AU: so, who could she be promised to? Take a wild guess.

reviews please?


	2. Chapter 2

1Small note: to those who read my first chapter when I first posted it, I decided to change something. Instead of it being the end of their seventh year, it is in face the beginning. I decided on this for several reasons, but I thought I would make that a little note.

Enjoy.

I own nothing but the creativity.

Chapter Two

The news had come to them one morning over breakfast. Dumbledore had started the morning feast off by announcing his acceptance as the head of the ministry in place of Fudge. No one was really surprised, after Voldemort had fallen at the end of their sixth year Dumbledore had been practically running the ministry from Hogwarts anyway. It was only a matter of time before he made it official. But no one suspected the horrors that would befall them.

After his little announcement, he had ever so humbly started to list the changes he hoped to bring to the wizarding world during his time in the ministry, and like everyone else Harry had been eagerly listening to his speech. However, towards the end he mentioned a 'great change' coming to their world, where the issue of blood status would be a thing of the past.

His solution of a marriage law dictated that every of age single female wizard would be married off to a male wizard of the ministries choosing.

As might be imagined, this news wasn't exactly welcomed with open arms.

"I mean, after all of his years as this great wizard and his only solution is forced marriage" Hermione screamed again, for what seemed like the hundredth time. The Gryffindor common room was long since empty, leaving the male members of the golden trio to sit and listen to the rants of their book worm.

"Herm's, we know it a big upset, but maybe you should sit for a few-" Harry was cut off by a shrill scream of outrage.

"A big UPSET?! Easy for you to say! Your not single, you and Ginny have it made. No one is forcing you to tie the knot any time soon. Not that I think you two wont eventually, but at least you know each other!" Hermione began her tirade all over again, pacing in front of the fire and looking by all accounts a mad woman.

Sighing, Harry glanced over to the window where Ron had taken to sulking for the duration of the day. He claimed to be ok, but Harry knew better. Ron had always had a thing for Hermione, and it was no secret. Now she was going to be married off to another bloke and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Hermione might have been right about him not having to worry as much, but that didn't mean he was free from all concern. They were his friends after all. Sitting there in the plush red chair, watching his two best friends have mental breakdowns, Harry knew he was in for a different kind of war, and this time he was powerless to stop it.

XXX

two days had passed since the little announcement, and for the most part Hermione had calmed down to a more rational state of mind.

She was getting married.

The thought kept coming to her when she least expected it, and it always made her feel like she was walking through a horrible dream. She could remember being a little girl and reading books like 'The Little Princess' and 'Sleeping Beauty'. Oh how she had wanted the fairytale wedding. With the prince coming to her rescue and whisking her off to be married in a big church, with big wedding bells and a big wedding dress.

Now, she had grown up rather quickly, and those childish fantasies faded as they always do. But not completely, after all she may be a witch but she was still a human, a female human at that.

That afternoon found Hermione in the Library pouring over the vast array of legal documents and law books that were kept at hogwarts. She knew it was a long shot, but somewhere in the dark depths of her mind she was determined to find a way out of this. Couldn't this be considered invasion of rights? Invasion of privacy? Something?

After finishing the last pages on chapter seventeen of _'Wizard Laws and How to go About the Whole Business' _she slammed the book shut in a huff of defeat. The bloody old coot had taken into consideration every possible loop hole and patch worked his law to assure no one could escape it. Not that she had totally given up that is, maybe she would get lucky and a new dark wizard would pop up and kill her before she was forced into marring some old, fat and rather droll wizard who, she assumed, would smell faintly of cottage cheese.

After a few more minutes of pondering her decidedly unpleasant situation, Hermione gathered the various books strewn about the table she had been occupying for the last three and a half hours and cast them back to their original places under the sharp gaze of Madam Pince.

Taking a glance out of a small dusty window towards the far wall of the library, Hermione noticed the waning light streaming through and mentally began to prepare herself for the inevitable. It was a Wednesday, and only three weeks into the beginning of her seventh year at Hogwarts. Dumbledore was expected to release the list of the matching by the end of the week, and after that her life was going to change drastically. Taking one more longing look towards the small window, Hermione made her way out of the library heading for supper.

XxXx

"If one more word is uttered in this classroom about the '_black list_' you all seem to be whining about, I can guarantee the one responsible will receive two weeks detention, cleaning pots the muggle way. Is that clear?" Snapes silky voice slithered through the room, bringing everyone to an abrupt silence.

"I suppose he's just jealous, being left out and all" Ron muttered under his breath to Harry, earning a small smirk. Harry knew Ron still didn't fancy the potions professor, but after he proved his real loyalty during the final battles, Harry just didn't have it in him to hate the man. In fact, he often found him self admiring the Slytherin. Not that he would ever admit it of course.

While dicing up his flubber worm liver, harry focused in on Hermione who was seated a table ahead of his, currently stirring her labor inducing potion counter clock-wise 77 times. His thoughts drifted to the ominous _'Black List_' as it had been dubbed. Tomorrow would decided the future of his two best friends, and Harry didn't know how to handle it. Harry had been woken last night by Ron crying to himself, and it had gone on for hours. Harry hadn't said anything to him simply because he didn't know what to say.

Harry just couldn't figure out why Dumbledore was doing this. There had been a time last year when he had doubted the wizard, after finding he had been lied to. But they had reached an understand, and Harry had been elated when everything had come to fruition at the end of last year. Dumbledore had survived the war and Tom Riddles twisted persona and died for the final time. Everything had been going so well. What the hell was the old man thinking?

Deciding getting lost in thought during potions class was an all around bad idea, he snapped his focus back to his potion in time to see it turn an interesting shade of plum, a color it was most assuredly not suppose to be. Snape, of course, took great pleasure for the rest of the class reminding him such.

XxX

It was Thursday evening, and everyone in the castle was on edge. Fights were breaking out over stupid arguments, and teachers were having a hard time controlling the students during dinner. Taking her ususal seat between Ron and Harry, Hermione noticed Draco Malfoy sitting off to the corner of the slytherin table, alone. After the war, his father had been found as a casualty and unmasked as a death eater.

Of course, the slytherin prince was dethroned and shunned by even his own fellow classmates. While Draco himself had been cleared of all charges, it was never proven what side he really rooted for. Now a days, she hardly ever noticed him because he kept to him self, and never really spoke in class.

Part of her wanted to feel pity, but then she would be reminded of all the horrible things he had done over the years and would push aside those feeling rather quickly.

"Bullox, the lot of it. Im telling you, this wont go through!" Ron was shouting at a Ravenclaw who was arguing with two other Gryffindor's. He was red faced and sightly pink all over, food spitting out of his mouth while he couldn't seem to decided on wether to stand or sit, opting for a middle ground of half crouching in his seat.

"Dumbledore is head of the ministry now, and all the parents are supporting him because they think he must know best, with his experience and all. Who is going to challenge him?" the Ravenclaw countered, crossing his arms in obvious defiance.

Hermione chose that moment to tune out of the conversation, and leave the great hall. She hadn't even started to eat and already her appetite was strangely absent.

Tomorrow was going to be simply horrid. In all respects, by this time tomorrow, Hermione Granger would no longer be a free woman.

XxX

AU: Yes? No? What do you think?


	3. Chapter 3

1

I own nothing but the creativity.

Chapter Three

It was rather funny, watching everyone get their knickers in a twist. He had always known the Headmaster was daft and this new decree just aimed to prove it. People were acting as if arranged marriage was something new and un-heard of. Obviously none of them stopped to think of the pure bloods. None of them understood that for the wizard elite, arranged marriage was common place.

At least it used to be.

Draco sat in the Great Hall, mulling over everything as he often found himself doing. He remembered the days when the crowds would part and make way for his posse. He could remember the girls swooning at his affectionate gaze, even fighting over him. No one dared challenge him, other then Potter of course. And that's what had started it all.

Sure, Potter had saved the whole bloody world. He had killed the dark lord, and good riddance as far as Draco was concerned. At first it had been his father pressing everything on him. He was suppose to be the prince after all, the youth of the new revolution. Draco was sucked in by the promise of power the Dark Lord offered, and by the time he had realized how twisted and self centered that power was, it was too late. He had signed the oath, branding him as a Death Eater with the winding serpent on his arm. The dark mark, or as he saw it, his mark of shame.

It was fortunate for him, that during the war he had gone missing to the public eye. He had taken his mother and fled from his father and the Dark Lord. He wanted to take her away and run from his fate, and it was that decision turned out to be his saving grace.

When the trials were held, the Death Eater brand should have been enough to condemn him. But because so many were choosing to come forth and offer names, places, anything the ministry wanted in exchange for a sliver of redemption, it turned out that the mark alone wasn't enough to sentence you to life.

And then Potter stepped in. Everyone turned to their golden boy for answers, and as Potter could not verify that he had been anywhere in the final battles, he was reluctantly cleared of all charges and put on probation. The ministry would track every spell that left his wand for the next two years. Anything even resembling dark magic and he was to be shut away for all time.

So, his life was turned into this. The people who had favored the Dark Lord shunned him because he had changed sides in the final moments, and the followers of Potter and Dumbledore hated him for his choice to join in the first place. So where did that leave him?

Alone.

One thing that didn't seem the change was the public's fascination with him. He couldn't count the times he had flipped through the profit to find his picture captioned with some ridiculous claim of dark activities, or scandals. Luck for him, no one at school really seemed to care. There minds were made up a long time ago about him, and nothing he could do would ever change it. And after being the puppet for his father for so many years, he stopped caring.

Glancing down at his scarcely touched turkey breast and peas, he wondered if Dumbledore would be stupid enough to pair him with some poor little witch. It wasn't himself he was concerned about. He had come to terms with marrying someone he hardly liked or knew years ago as a child, but just think of what the woman would say. He couldn't imagine anyone would be very privy into marrying a former Death Eater.

Deciding that Dumbledore couldn't be _that_ stupid, he was just about to stand from the table and make his valiant exit back to the dungeons when the headmaster himself cleared his throat in an obvious show to gather attention.

Sighing a little to himself, he settled back down and lazily rested his chin on his folded hands.

XxX

Hermione was just about to walk through the giant double doors and make her way to the common room when Dumbledore stood to make an announcement. He had cleared his throat to call for silence, but it honestly wasn't needed. The moment he stood before the head table everyone's eyes were glued to his every move.

She didn't bother to return to her seat, and instead simply stood in the middle of the entrance holding her breath and clutching her copy of '_The Practical Properties of Fairy Trinkets'_ so close to her that her knuckles were turning white.

"It has been brought to my attention" Dumbledore bellowed, slowly turning his head towards all four tables. He paused for whatever reason, taking a moment to smooth out his dark purple robes that had been charmed to turn shades of blue at the hems it seemed whenever it felt the need.

He began again a moment later, leveling his gaze on the student body once again. "The newly instated marriage law is causing quite a bit of anxiety, more than I had originally anticipated." there was a low snort at the head table at this comment, in the direction of Professor Snape, but if the headmaster heard it he chose not to show it.

"Now, tomorrow is the last day of the week, and as to avoid any more... needless worrying, I have decided to release the list a bit earlier than expected."

If a small a thing as a time turner dropped under one of the tables, even muffled by someone robes, you could have heard it. The Great Hall was stunned into silence and everyone's heart seems to skip several beats. We had all been preparing for the list release at dinner tomorrow, but that was tomorrow. It was still in the future and many students were banking their sanity on the sheer idea of it remaining 'in the future'.

But that had come to a halt.

His next words were, assuredly, going to go down in the next edition of _'Hogwarts, A History'._

Making a small smile at his students, Dumbledore opened his arms and took in a deep breath. "When you have finished you meals, and return to your rooms, those who are affected by the law will find an envelope among your things. I think you will find it has the information you seek."

For a few precious moments nothing happened. The air its self seemed to hold its breath. No one moved, no one breathed. And then, as if the flood gates had let loose, it happened.

Hermione only had time to register the large flock of students running her way for a brief second before she was knocked to the ground and ran over by hundreds of students. Hermione only counted nine pairs of feet colliding with her head before the pain turned into a dull thud and everything went black.

XxX

Draco watched in horror as the announcement was made and the pack of students went from being a room of silent statues to a hoard of blood thirsty Hippogriffs. The teachers moved immediately to help the students, and in three point five seconds the students had made it out of the great hall, leaving only the headmaster, professor Flitwick who had been to short to run with the rest of the staff, and himself.

Or at least he guessed as much.

Looking towards the entrance as he stood to gather himself in a much more professional manner than the rest of the school seemed to be able to muster, Draco noticed a student laying on the floor, being fussed over by professor Flitwick. Poor thing got caught in the rush it seemed, but served them right for being stupid enough to be standing in the way.

Walking towards the scene, he was a little miffed when he noticed the student in question was none other then the golden trios princess. Hermione Granger lay bloody and beaten on the ground, unconscious. Her golden brown hair was splayed around her, slightly tangled and drawn across her face. Her robes were ripped half off her, revealing her once pristine white blouse riding half way up her stomach. Her skirt was drawn up her legs, which were currently bent to the side in a rather uncomfortable looking position, and an ankle looked to be twisted.

He stood for a moment, staring at the girl he had hated form the moment they had met. She was half the reason he was sure Potter even succeed in the accomplishments he took credit for, surly not having the brain to figure everything out for himself. She may have been a mud bl- a muggle born, but he had to give credit where credit was due and the girl, well, woman was brilliant.

Trying to convince himself he was not staring at her legs, he made a move to walk past her and out into the hall when the Professor stopped him and implored him to help her to the hospital wing. He refused of course, claiming several reasons why he couldn't and several places he had to be at that exact moment, but none of them seem good enough and had no choice but to comply.

As he drew out his wand in an exaggerated gesture, hoping to drive home just how un-pleasant this was for him, he was stopped by the Professors squealing.

"Oh no no no no! You mustn't use your wand Mr. Malfoy, she is to unstable. I suspect her ankle to be broken and possibly a few ribs. You have to carry her the old fashion way. Up you go, hurry hurry! Im to short to!" he was practically jumping up and down where he stood, looking from the headmaster who had yet to move from his perch, to him, and down at Hermione in rapid succession.

It was there Draco drew the line, refusing to get her blood on his nice, clean robes. But alas, the Professor didn't seem to want to shut up until he did as asked. With a few muttered curses, he leaned down to pick the battered Hermione up.

"Slowly now, careful"! the professor pleaded, attempting to help lift her into his arms.

Draco eased her surprisingly light form into his arms and situated her until her knew he had a good grip on her. Look down at the Professor, he ignored the little mans voice and walked out of the Great Hall, glancing back as he rounded the corner just in time to see Dumbledore's eyes trailing him.

"Woman you owe me for this" he muttered to her still un-conscious form. Oh if his father could see him now.

He reached the hospital wing with little effort, and was greeted immediately. "Goodness, What in merlins beard happened? Oh never mind, lay her over here, good." she somehow managed to get out among her muttering's.

Draco did as she asked without complaint, wanting to get the feel of her against his chest out of his mind forever. He didn't know why but he had been slightly fascinated with the feel of her, and it bothered him to no end. She had whispered something on the way there, but it had been slurred and she had obviously not even noticed she had spoken for she remained totally limp in his arms.

Once she was situated in the hospital bed, Draco took the opportunity to slowly slip out of the hospital wing. The door shut quietly behind him and he walked a few paces down the hall before resting his back against one of the walls.

"This year is going to kill me." he muttered to himself, amused that he could survive a psycho maniac snake wizard bent on total wizarding genocide, and not one year of schooling.

Deciding the slytherin common room would be just to much to handle right now, he let his feet wonder the empty corridors and ended up in one of the various towers.

It was going to be a long night, and he had the feeling he would be spending the majority of it in the solitude of the tower.

XxX

there you go, not to much but its something :


	4. Chapter 4

1

AU: I own nothing and you know it.

Chapter Four

The air had turned slightly cooler as the night pressed on, reminding Draco that summer months were indeed coming to an end. October was fast approaching, and the leaves of the forbidden forest were beginning to turn color. From his perch in the southern tower, he could see the whole of Hogwarts ground, from that oaf Hagrid's cabin to the whomping willow across the field. It was hard to believe that less than a year ago the whole castle had been under siege by the Dark Lords forces. How many bodies had they found in that same field?

But now the castle was quiet, as if still recovering from the adventure. It was all fine and well with him however, the quieter it was, the better. He hated noise.

Guessing he had been seated on the window seal for a little over three hours now, Draco decided to make his way back to his inviting bed, hoping everyone would have either screamed or cried them self to sleep by now.

Sliding himself off the cold stones of the archway, he absent-mindedly dusted himself off while slowly walking down the winding stairs.

His mind wondered over the well worn paths from he war. Everything from his dead father, To his mortified mother. He thought about school, and about how much Potter had affected his life. And, begrudgingly, his mind wandered to Hermione. Ug, he didn't even like her name. After all, what kind of name is Hermione? He should have just let Flitwick deal with her.

Pushing her aside in his mind, he reached the Slytherin common room after dodging that annoying cat Norris twice, and slipped inside after uttering '_silver scales'_ to the annoyed portrait.

Once inside, he was half surprised to find the common room eerily empty. True, he had hoped it would be but he didn't expect it. Taking a few more steps into the room, he uttered a wandless spell to have the fire kick on, casting shadows behind the plush emerald furniture.

Draco was about to ease himself into a rather oversized arm chair when a small noise startled him, causing him to whip out his wand by reflex. You didn't serve under the Dark Lord without learning how to watch your back, and he had the scars to prove it.

Facing the portrait hole, wand at the ready, he stood for a few moments looking for any sign that would indicate someone else was present, but nothing came. After another two minutes of double checking his surroundings, he deemed it safe to lower his wand and return it back into his robes.

Knowing he was alone wasn't enough for Draco and he decided to call it a night. After all, tomorrow the halls would be filled with depressed, whining little brats and he was going to need all the patience a good nights sleep could provide.

Keeping his senses alert while walking up the short flight of stairs to the boys room, he didn't really relax until he had quietly closed the door and he felt the protective charms click back into place.

Making his way over to his isolated four poster, Draco mused on how he was rather lucky the other seventh year Slytherin's seemed to be afraid to have their sleeping forms anywhere near him. It made it easy to slip in and out at his leisure without worrying one of them will slink of and shoot their mouth at a professor in true Slytherin form. He could remember all the times he had done so himself. Ah, the good old days where his biggest worry was annoying Potter and sneaking off to snog some nameless Slytherin whore.

When exactly had things changed, he wondered?

Having had enough contemplation for one evening, Draco took a few moments to change from his robes into a clean pair of boxers and a snug white shirt before doing his nightly routine. Once his teeth were brushed, cloths put away, and a glass of water set on his night stand, he noticed just how tired he really was.

Grateful his only class tomorrow wasn't till noon, Draco pulled back the heavy velvet drapes on his bed and prepared to jump into his sheets.

He was stopped dead however by a little 8" by 11" parchment envelope set neatly atop his black and green silk sheets.

XxX

AU: its not a lot, I know, but I wanted something. Being sick has some advantages I suppose. Let me know what you think?


	5. Chapter 5

1

AN: Here you are, the next chapter. See, I haven't gone anywhere. Hold on to your hats folks, this is going to be quite a ride.

XXXX

When Hermione came around for the first time, her mind was scattered and distant. It felt as if their was a large black cloth pulled over her, and to keep it lifted was almost to much of a hassle. Her mind gave into it's weight a few times before she was even conscious enough to protest..

Finally, when her mind roused it's self enough to know that she was actually awake, the blanket covering her mind slowly lifted and with it came several questions.

Hermione, if nothing else, had a very sharp and quick mind. It was one of the few things she prided her self on. So, when she was able to recognize that she was indeed laying down on what felt like a cardboard box with itchy blankets draped over her, Hermione's first response was to check the vast memory bank that was her mind for the last little piece that she could remember.

Their was the great hall. She had been about to leave, and then...

For the first time, as if the memories rushing back had triggered the pain all over again, she felt a dull ache in her left side. Suddenly she noticed that her head throbbed and her right ankle felt like small pin pricks where dancing on her skin. All in all her whole hurt.

Yes, she knew exactly what had happened and exactly where she was before even cracking open an eye. She was, without question, in the hospital ward.

Hermione struggled for a moment on what exactly she should do. She could remember quite vividly now the several hundred students charging over her like a elephant would a car, if that elephant had several hundred feet and the car happened to be a small clown car. What was the best course of action now that she had been beaten to a pulp by the entire school? Should she continue playing dead once more and let her mind give into the little tug of exhaustion she was experiencing, or should she man up and open her eyes to face the inevitable?

Hermione also had the horrid and rather sickening realization that the whole reason she was in this situation was, well for one her own stupidity and slow response to the hoard that was the student body, and two being the early revealing of the 'black list'. There was no telling how long she had been sitting here, letting her mind roam blissfully unaware while it's owner was being sentenced, so to speak. Somewhere in the castle sat a little piece of paper with her own personal sliver of hell written on it, and that sliver was a name.

Deciding she would have to face things sooner or later, she opted for sooner against her better wishes and slowly opened her eyes. She was greeted with the blinding overhead lights of the hospital wing, and the familiar sterile white draping's pulled half way around her cardboard box with sheets, otherwise known as her bed.

How many times had she woken to the same exact scenery? How many had been lying in this bed during the war who never woke up at all? Knowing the answer to that was far more depressing then she could handle for the moment, Hermione decided to try her luck at moving and very slowly pulled her weight into a sitting position.

She sat their for a few minutes, vaguely wondering who had brought her to the hospital wing, because it was quiet obvious she hadn't brought herself. Listening closely for any movement, she was rather surprised to notice the hall was dead silent. Every other time she had been unfortunate enough to require a visit, she had always been fussed over by madam Pomfrey, or accompanied by friends. So where was everyone?

As if slowly linking the pieces together, Hermione glanced down at her still aching body in quiet confusion. Why was she still this sore? Granted, she had been kicked around like a rag doll and she had lost consciousness, but it couldn't have been all that serious. Nothing some quick spells and a drought or two couldn't cure.

This was when Hermione really stared to grow confused, whipping her head around to get a better look at her situation (much to her heads annoyance).

On the small sterile table to her right, their was a metallic bowl filled part way with water. A small cloth had been placed by it, and looked to have been wet at some point but was otherwise clean and unused. Next to the bowl was a little vial, a generic healing potion she assumed, but the liquid inside was filled to the brim and the seal remained unbroken.

Hermione's eye brows knitted together, her mind working frantically as if to piece together the tiny bits of a puzzle. Glancing down at her self again, she noticed for the first time her left arm still had dried blood along the inner forearm and two large small bruises coloring her wrist.

Bruises? That was one of the easiest and quickest things to fix in the wizarding medical field. One little healing charm, a flick of the wrist in the right direction and the bruises would disappear. Or even a simple potion, ingested or applied directly to the skin would have them vanish in seconds. So why on earth would she still have them?

After that little revelation, it only took a few more moments for Hermione to come up with a logical, if not rather odd, reason for her current state of being. For whatever reason, she was never actually treated. Madam Pomfrey had obviously intended to judging by the potion vial and once damp cloth but something must have interrupted her.

It was at this thought that a sick feeling began to twist it's way into Hermione's stomach. For those fortunate enough to have survived the war, a sense of paranoia had been installed that was likely to follow them for the rest of their lives. Months of hiding in the shadows and skirting death around every corner had left her with an ever present voice whispering in her mind as a reminder of how quickly things could turn sour. It was a voice she had tried desperately to shake away, but it always lingered.

Instinct made Hermione immediately grasp for her wand which was stowed away under the sleeve of her right arm. She had taken to keeping it there because it was the fastest way to reach it, with just a simple flick of the wrist. Feeling immediately better once the cool wood fell lightly into her had, Hermione slowly swung her legs from under the sheets to place them firmly and quietly on the pristine white floor. She noted with another sense of impending dread that she still had her shoes on. What ever had happened to make madam Pomfrey leave, she did so in a rush. Having been close to the medi-witch during the days following the final battle she had come to recognize the methodical and attentive way she treated all of her patients. For her to just up and leave like this...

Something was wrong, and every ounce of Hermione was screaming it. Trying to steady a shaking hand that had nothing to do with the dull aches and pains currently assaulting her protesting body, she slipped off the bed and stood stock still at the silence that still greeted her.

With the grace learned over months of forced practice, Hermione slowly made her way around the half pulled white curtain, wand raised and ready in defense.

Her assumptions were correct when she rounded the curtain and was faced with an eerie and empty hospital wing. All of the beds were made, looking innocent and untouched. The ceiling, which had been charmed with low light, cast a quiet and dull glow about the large room.

The room was empty and she was alone. The hospital wing was _never_ empty. Someone was always in here, either visiting with madam Pomfrey or sick themselves. Be it a first year with an anxiety attack or a fifth year who mixed the wrong form of beatle hormone into their potion. A student was always, always here. If not a student madam Pomfrey never left the ward. She slept in her room towards the back and at her meals in her office. A constant figure as much a part of the room as the walls themselves. The sight of a cleared out and lonely room sent chilled down her spine, simply confirming that indeed something was not right.

Walking hesitantly down the center isle, and in-between all of the beds, Hermione cringed with every foot step she took. Though she knew it to be a soft patter, to the stillness and calm of the room it sounded like drums announcing to her would be attackers exactly were to throw their next curse.

Her mind was a jumbled haze, trying to grip the little bit of strings together and form logical explanations that still seemed to elude her. No matter how many times she told herself Voldemort was dead and that he couldn't possible stride through the very set of double doors she was now facing, her heart didn't seems to agree.

No, it's not possible. It's simply not. Sh wouldn't allow it to be.

So, it was with this reasoning as you might imagine that, when Hermione was half way down the isle and the main door of the hospital wing flew open with a flurry of several black robes and a frantic cloud of noise, Hermione yelled at the top of her lungs, jumping three feet in the air and yelled a disarming curse at the first person she laid eyes on.

That person, who was preoccupied and unfortunately not prepared for such an assault, happened to be professor Snape himself, in all of his black draped glory.

There was a moment, when everyone who had been trailing Professor Snape into the hospital wing, looked at her as if she had gone raving mad. The look on Snapes face, while his wand had flown from his loose hand to smack none to gently against the far wall, was something akin to anger and disbelief. That look, however, was quickly replaced by a look of complete and utter annoyance. Without missing a beat, snape had called his wand back to his hand with a bit of show off wandless magic she supposed was just a small testament at how much power the man really possessed.

These thought however were rather fleeting and short lived, as only a few moments had gone by and the rest of the large crowd that was now spilling into the once empty hospital wing pointedly ignored her now in favor of shouting orders and swishing about to the once vacant beds around her.

Hermione noticed, now that her heart had made the climb back down from her throat where it had lodged its self and back in her chest where it belonged, that the buzz in the room was a panicked one. Teachers, some of whom she had all but forgotten even existed for the fact she hadn't sat in their classrooms in literally years were placing students of all ages in the beds that were now quickly filling up. Some of the students were conscious, crying or screaming incoherently at whom ever happened to be close enough to hear over the overall noise. Others were silent, hanging limply from teachers arms or slung into beds like dead weight.

Some of the teachers, now that Hermione had become a fixed statue in the center of all the commotion, looked worse for the ware and some had several cuts or blackened eyes as if there had been a physical struggle, and by the looks of things it was a very real possibility. The students looked the worst though, marred and all of them covered in an array of bruises and bleeding over their school robes. She noticed then too, with some abstract part of her brain that was always picking apart details, that all of the students were male. Not one girl lay among them.

She was jostled out of her shocked state when Professor Snape was looming over her, blocking the corner of the room she had been staring off into. Glancing up at his rather unpleasant and stressed looking face, Hermione couldn't even think of forming words to save her life. She had attacked the man for heavens sake, and now she was surround by fellow classmates and teachers looking as if they had all flung themselves into a pit of dragons for the fun of it.

What the hell had happened?

Snape, not wasting any time it seemed, grabbed Hermione's limp left hand and shoved something round and cold into her palm. Closing her fingers roughly around the object, he all but pushed at her in the direction of the door.

"Go" was all her said, and it was a command sharp and in a tone of voice that dared you to disobey, promising sever punishment if the thought even crossed your mind.

Still in a daze, and not even sure if her feet would make it there, Hermione stumbled past the already retreating figure of Snape and somehow made it out of the hospital wing moments later. She was knocked aside the second she stepped outside the double doors by another small group of teachers with what looked to be more students crumpled in their arms. They too disappeared into the ward without a second glance at her, who had been flung into the hard stone wall.

Had that been _Filch_? Carrying someone?

This had to be impossible. She didn't even know what was going on, and surly Filch wouldn't care enough to actually help out a student. No, this was just... to much.

Still in what felt like a drug induced stupor, Hermione dragged herself from where she had started to slump against the far wall and dragged her feet along the familiar path to the Gryffindor tower.

Where as before Snapes grand arrival she had been alert and awake, the shock of it all had finally penetrated her mind and was doing it's best to slowly bring her down. Her body, which she had been able to ignore in light of curiosity and survival instincts taking over, now moved sluggish and seemed to be pulling every sore part of her body that much more.

She couldn't think. And for Hermione, that was alarming all in its self. What had happened? She hadn't the slightest idea, her mind was to preoccupied with her unhealed body to want to process anything else.

She was coming up to the portrait for Gryffindor tower. Having made head girl this year, which really wasn't all that surprising considering everything that had happened, she had been giving her own private room and amenities. Everything from her own living room, to a very nice grand scale bathroom. The head girls room even had a small kitchen in it, a little perk Hermione had already enjoyed by cooking the 'muggle' way the week before.

But that's not where her feet had taken her. No, she had wound up directly staring into the distraught looking fat lady's face. For reasons unknown to Hermione, she had barley started to mutter the password that being head girl had given her access to when the portrait swung open without any hesitation.

To confused and in to much pain to really care, Hermione stumbled into the common room and was met with a rather loud and obnoxious cry from two of the restless occupants.

"Hermione!" came the weathered calls from both Ron and Harry who had practically jumped over to her figure, which had stopped moving part way into the room and stood still as they converged around her.

She must have been quiet the sight she imagined because the look in their eyes said wonders. she could distantly imagine herself and what she must appear like to them. She was still covered in bruises and gashes, this she knew from the pain she could still quiet clearly feel. Her ankle hurt like hell and she was fairly certain it was twisted if not broken. How she had even managed to limp this far she might never know. Her side was now killing her, the pain sharp and throbbing. Broken ribs, at least two of them she assumed, how wonderful. Why had she not felt that until now?

But it was the pounding in her head that was the real killer, and as she looked in the anxious faces of Harry and Ron, little black dots were starting to surface in her line of vision. Was she really this badly hurt? She didn't feel this horrible a few minutes ago in the hospital wing. But that could have just been the adrenaline, blinding her pain receptors in an attempt to focus on surviving the 'immanent attack' that had turned out to be nothing more than a confusing throng of injured teachers and students. Possibly even more injured than she was, although her body seemed to be annoyed with that idea.

"Hermione, good god, you were trampled" Ron's ever observant and obvious voice was like a needle at her already pulsing temples, and she squinted her eyes slightly like he had visibly lashed out at her. She had to force herself to not cover her ears to block it out.

"We saw you go down in the rush, we tried to get to you but everyone was pushing and shoving and we were shuffled out... Hermione, everyone broke into a fight after we got back to rooms and they got their envelops. It was ok at first but... It got really bad, it was an all out riot. Everyone was in the halls, fighting each other. The girls seemed to shy away, I think they were mostly crying but the boys just got crazy and..." Harry's voice was softer then Ron's, and she was very thankful for it, not knowing If she could handle more needles at her temple.

It was then, she assumed, that they finally noticed the state she was it. She had thought it quite obvious form the start, her glazed over eyes their first clue, but she forgot who it was she was dealing with. Harry wasn't as nearly as dense as Ron was, but he was known to overlook things in the passion of the moment.

This had been such a moment, as anxious, impatient eyes were replaced with looks of utter horror. As if wanting to join in on the fun, Hermione glanced down at herself and remembered that she still had a death drip on her wand. Lightly humored by the notion and knowing her brain was slowly coming to a halt, she let her wand slip to the floor, no longer caring. In her other hand, she struggled to bring close to her face the object snape had quickly given her before she had left the hospital wing. There, in her hand, was an unmarked olive green vial. She didn't have to sniff it to know what it was, she had taken enough potions to know it was a healing potion. One from Snapes personal store, she assumed from the lack of labeling and the hand sealed black wax along the cork.

That was rather nice of him, Hermione though distantly.

But that was as far as her thought process got. Her body, deciding it had had enough of this non-sense, went into complete shut down mode. Harry was saying something, and she thought she felt Ron's hand on her arm but she couldn't be sure. The colors swirled, and the last thing she remembered was the sound of the small vial falling from her hand to the floor with a light thud. Her legs turned to rubber, and the world simply melted away.

For the second time in the same day, Hermione's mind slipped quickly into darkness.

XXXX

AN: so there we go. I just want to take a moment to explain something. In this story, you will notice that the war has left a very deep impression on everyone in one way or another. Think about it, it makes sense that it would. Months and months of kill or be killed, run in the shadows or face certain death, see a friend one day and see him dead the next... it's bound to leave an impression on the young adults, wouldn't you agree?.

But either way, I hope you enjoyed. I know it was a bit of a downer chapter, but this stuff happened. Review please? I really would like to know what you think of where im going with this.

Next chapter we will get Draco's account of the events, and Hermione had to look at her little envelope some time.

Review? Yes?


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